Person to person. Porch to porch.

The party's over-but it's not yet time to call it a day. The Republicans have concluded their nominating convention and all I can think of is Dylan's The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest, which is where I was when the Democratic Party wrapped up their shindig the week previous.

I had never realized that 'I know you are, but what am I?' was allowed to be used beyond third grade, much less that it would become the manner in which national issues are debated in this country. I can only imagine the citizens of Iraq as they observe our election year shenanigans and wonder what the hubbub about democracy is all about in the first place.

Like somebody else we can both name, this ain't my first rodeo, either, but I was excited to anticipate an engaged discussion on issues of national and international importance whose solutions and impacts would reverberate across economic, ethnic and generational divides. And what did I watch in dribs and drabs for the last two weeks? Variations of a bad audition for the part of Mark Antony (sorry JLO, not your stud) in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar where the tag teams of Obama/Biden and McCain/Palin take turns damning one another with faint praise and demonizing with both hands. Is this how an honorable man (or woman) should behave?

It seems temper tantrums are now political dialogue. In all candor, if Nathan Hale could have seen this coming, he'd have kicked that box out from under his own feet. What are we doing to each other and why? Hurling invective, thinly (and badly) veiled, is not going to get us out of the debtors' prison we've fashioned for our national and personal finances; it will not address the looming collapse of safety nets upon which millions depend on a daily basis, ranging from Social Security to health care. It costs us time and uses up oxygen (and from the tone of the discussion, many of us are already oxygen-deprived.)

When there were LOTS of folks running (you remember that, right?) there was talk that those who were selected by their parties would travel the country together, speaking to the same folks in the same venues--not like Stiller and Meara, though that might be a model, but like the formal conversations Lincoln and Douglas had with one another and their fellow-citizens across Illinois one hundred and fifty years ago, this year. Talk about lightning not striking twice in the same place.

There's no confirmed schedule of televised debates (which aren't really debates in the sense I would hope but feature questions once reserved for The Dating Game ('If you could be any vegetable, which one would you be?' 'A zucchini!' And let's promise one another now, the first cretin to ask 'boxers or briefs?' of any of the Fab Four gets clubbed like a baby seal. Agreed?). There's no format, venue, length and won't be without weeks of negotiations on arcane aspects like the height of the podium each speaker will have (maybe zucchini is not such a bad answer after all), the color of the curtain behind them, the cut of the crystal of the drinking glass each will nervously sip from and how far from the edge of the stage all of this happens. Rest assured neither side will make the first move to get this show on the road but will make very sure to paint the other side as the bad guys for the delay.

Tell you what-all that's needed is a front porch and a couple of chairs. As it just so happens, I have both at my house. And electricity, so when it gets dark the talking with America doesn't have to stop and some Hosmer Mountain soda in the fridge, pick a flavor (they're all good), to wet your whistle before you slake our appetite to learn what you propose to do for what you see as the issues facing us and our children. Speaking of appetite, if you get hungry we'll call out for pizza-everybody likes pizza (with or without zucchini). Drop me a line right here and let me know what day and time you'll be by so I can tell my wife. She gets really cranky if I bring home Presidential debaters without calling her first. She wants to clean house (and this time she won't be alone).
-bill kenny